LORD.
At the very hour
To which your Highness temper'd it. Yet not
So wholly but some lingering mist still hung
About his dawning senses--which to clear,
We fill'd and handed him a morning drink
With sleep's specific antidote suffused;
And while with princely raiment we invested
What nature surely modell'd for a Prince--
All but the sword--as you directed--

KING.
Ay--

LORD.
If not too loudly, yet emphatically
Still with the title of a Prince address'd him.

KING.
How bore he that?

LORD.
With all the rest, my liege,
I will not say so like one in a dream
As one himself misdoubting that he dream'd.

KING.
So far so well, Clotaldo, either way,
And best of all if tow'rd the worse I dread.